


Tax Benefits, or The Time Aziraphale and Crowley Crashed a Wedding

by shippityshipship



Series: Something Old, Something New [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley are still dancing around their relationship, F/M, Fluff, For tax purposes of course, M/M, Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell get married, NaNoWriMo, NaNoWriMo 2019, Pre-Relationship, Weddings, part one of a series of weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 22:37:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21465667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shippityshipship/pseuds/shippityshipship
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley crash a wedding.Part One of a series of weddings that I'm writing for NaNoWriMo 2019. May be read as a stand-alone or a prequel to the next two, which will be the main story.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Series: Something Old, Something New [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547332
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	Tax Benefits, or The Time Aziraphale and Crowley Crashed a Wedding

The walls were blank except for a faded “Masters of Accounting” certificate. The desk was large and of sturdy build, with scratch marks and ink stains from several hundred years of taxes. The only personal artefact in the office was a small new picture frame on a filing cabinet of a man in his late teens standing in front of a bland university building, on his first day following in the footsteps of his father, and grandfather, and great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather, and however many generations before him.

Mr Gareth Treth, now in his 70s, sat behind the desk. He had done so for the last several decades since taking over the firm when his father retired. A balding man with few interests outside of numbers and golf, he was the fourth most interesting Treth that Crowley had met since he first invented taxes.

“… and once the next financial year finishes, we predict your return will exceed your previous return by 2.89%, although not as much as the one from the previous year, which was 2.92% higher than this year’s, with that additional tax-deductable claim from…” Mr Treth wheezed, all sixty years of pipe smoking evident in his voice.

Crowley’s eyes were sliding shut behind his glasses. He wanted to go back and slap himself for inventing the entire tax system. Heck, he could go back and crush himself under the paperwork from just the last financial year.

“…non-withstanding an interest rate increase, the property market is making for a very favourable investment this time of year…”

One duck. Two ducks. Three ducks. Four ducks. Crowley counted in his head the much more pleasant scene from his walk in St James’ Park earlier in the day. Aziraphale had been there. Aziraphale had brought a sourdough for the ducks and one for them, and a tasty tub of pate (that one not for the ducks, of course, only for them). Aziraphale had been positively glowing, talking about his latest book find at an antique market in Kent. Aziraphale had said next time Crowley might like to come along, it’d really be much more convenient than taking the bus anyway. Aziraphale had suggested they go somewhere.

“…of course the current government incentives makes it much more favourable to purchase property as a couple, at least on paper. Why just the other day I met a peculiar couple who would be able to afford a house together, despite their occupations being listed as ‘retired fortune teller’ and ‘retired witchfinder’, really they were very odd…”

Crowley woke up from his daydream with a start. “A fortune teller and a witchfinder, you say?”

“Yes, retired now, but they were planning on getting married and a house together.”

“Married?”

“Quite, at their age too, although the gentleman – if you could call him a gentleman – kept saying it was for tax benefits only.”

“Did the gentleman have a strong accent with no discernible place of origin?”

“He did, yes! Oh, do you know him? Please excuse my indiscretion, I should not have spoken about other clients, that was unprofessional of me. We here at Treth and Sons and Grandsons take our clients’ confidentiality very seriously, as it states in the Constitution of the Firm on page 14 section 28 subsection 4 part 2, ‘We the Firm of Treth and…’”

Crowley cut him off. “I’ll excuse it if you tell me when and where the wedding is. I believe my invitation got lost in the post.” Crowley tilted down his classes and narrowed his eyes for effect.

“I… well yes… of course, Mr Crowley sir. I… I think they said it would be the Islington Town Hall, today at three!”

“In 20 minutes?”

“19 minutes and 34 seconds, Mr Crowley, 19 minutes and 31 seconds!”

“Well then, Mr Treth, it’s been unpleasurable as always, but I’m afraid I’ll have to leave the rest of the tax to you. I’ve got a wedding to get to!”

With that, Crowley stood up knocking his chair over, and was out the door.

“… but it’s a 57 minute drive!” Mr Treth called. Crowley was already long gone.

* * *

Aziraphale was doing inventory, that is to say, looking fondly at the spines of books and reassuring himself that yes, he did have that first edition signed copy of Pride and Prejudice by “the Author of Sense and Sensibility”, and yes, it was still in between the first edition signed copy of Volume Three of Sense and Sensibility by “a Lady” and the first edition signed copy of Mansfield Park by “the Author of Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice, and that was the very copy that Crowley had got him, and that was such a thoughtful gift, really Crowley outdid himself, and then reminding himself not to get distracted, and thus ticking it off his mental list of his inventory.

The rotary phone in the bookshop rang, startling him out of his memory about the time Crowley had arranged a meeting with the then anonymous author for tea and scrumptious scones with blackberry jam.

“Hello?”

“Angel, it’s me. Put on something smart that isn’t pure white, I’ll pick you up in 5.”

“Why, what’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“No, everything’s fine. We’re going to a wedding.”

* * *

The Bentley screeched to a halt in front of the Town Hall. It was 3:19 by Crowley’s watch.

“I thought you said it was at three? We’ll have missed the whole ceremony!”

“We’re perfectly in time. Little demonic miracle of my own – the ceremony before got busted for being a people smuggling operation, so they’re running behind time.”

“Oh dear, I do hope they’re alright.”

“The groom is going to jail, where he belongs.”

“And the bride?”

“Getting there, Angel. The bride just got contacted by a very helpful government agency with an opening at a nice shelter.”

“Would you look at that, the local university just created a scholarship for exactly what she wants to study, with accommodation and living expenses are included.”

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly. “Always outdoing yourself, Aziraphale.”

“Yes, well, I’ve got to balance out the chaos you created by making them run late.”

“Of course. Shall we?”

* * *

They found Sergeant Shadwell and Madame Tracy sitting inside the Town Hall. Madame Tracy was wearing a quirky multicoloured dress that looked like it was in vogue in the 1960s, and a small veil that one would find in the ‘Hen’s Party’ section of a novelty gift shop. Sergeant Shadwell at least looked as though he had showered and shaved.

“Oh, hello, what are you doing here?” Madame Tracy asked with surprise.

“A little dull accountant-bird told me that there was a wedding on at three, thought we’d pop over and give our respective blessings,” replied Crowley.

“Why that bloody…” Sergeant Shadwell sat bolt upright

“Oh it’s alright dear, it means we’ve got two supernatural entities here to bless our wedding! Isn’t that lovely.” Madame Tracy tried to placate her fiancé.

“I dunna want any such blessings from that demon fellow, yeh hear me!” Sergeant Shadwell had pulled out his not-so-magic finger.

“Now, now, Mr Crowley is a friend, he’s one of the good guys.”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, sure he’d be taking offence at being called good. He was surprised to find instead that there was a faint blush of red on the tips of Crowley’s ears. He look instead at the pair sitting in front of them, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“I for one would be honoured to bless your union, although I hope we are not intruding. I’ve only crashed a wedding once in the twelfth century, and that was in a more literal sense – there was a goat on the roof. Do you remember, Crowley?”

“Was that the one in Constantinople or Venezuela?”

“Venezuela. They had a delicious roast after the ceremony. Constantinople was the chicken, and I was actually invited to that wedding.”

“Of course you’re not intruding, of course, not. The more the merrier, isn’t it?” cried Madame Tracy.

Sergeant Shadwell said nothing comprehensible, just stared at his feet and muttered something rude about goats and chickens.

“Speaking of, I was a bit surprised, didn’t think you two would be much for marriage,” said Crowley

Madame Tracy smiled. “Oh well, it’s never too late to find lo-“

“TAX BENEFITS” cried Sergeant Shadwell.

“Hush, you,” said Madame Tracy, as the door to Room 99 opened.

A smartly dressed, if a bit harried-looking woman stepped out of a room to the side. “Sorry for the delay, there was a legal matter to attend to. Right this way please.”

Madame Tracy stood up and straightened her veil, before helping to heave Sergeant Shadwell out of his chair. She grabbed his hand and strode with purpose into the room. Aziraphale and Crowley trailed behind, the former wearing a bewildered look, the latter with an amused smirk.

The room had red carpets and gold curtains, though the furniture was simple. It looked as though someone had tried to copy the interior of Buckingham Palace on a very tight budget. The smartly dressed lady lead Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell to the desk at the front of the room, then gestured for Aziraphale and Crowley to sit in the small audience area.

“My name is Meredith; I’ll be your wedding officiant today. I assume you are the couple to be wed?” she asked Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell.

They nodded in response.

“And you two gentlemen-”

“Ethereal beings” Crowley muttered under his breath.

“- are you both competent and in agreeance to bear witnesses to this marriage?”

“Why yes, if you like, it would be an honour!” replied Aziraphale. Crowley nodded his consent.

The vows were simple and traditional. There were no readings or poems, so the ceremony was very short. It ended with Meredith saying the classic “I pronounce you married. You may now kiss.”

Sergeant Shadwell leaned in to kiss Madame Tracy on the cheek. She huffed “none of that,” and pecked him on the lips instead.

Aziraphale applauded enthusiastically. Crowley wolf whistled perfectly, having invented the art.

As Meredith hurried them out of the room (“Got one more ceremony to fit in this afternoon and they’re already closing the building!”) she turned to Aziraphale and said quietly “If you two are looking for a venue, there are much nicer halls here where you can have something more customised and with a bit more space for guests.” She shoved a flyer in his hands before calling “Next!”

* * *

Outside the sun was shining, and if Aziraphale had some influence in the rainbow that appeared from across from the Town Hall, or the flock of white doves that just flew out of a tree, he was staying quiet. Madame Tracy was clutching the marriage certificate to her chest with one hand, and firmly holding on to Sergeant Shadwell’s hand with her other.

“So, what now?” asked Crowley

“There’s an ice-creamery just down the road,” chimed in Aziraphale.

“I was more meaning to ask the happy couple about married life, but sure, my shout.”

“Oh, well, it’ll take some getting used to, being a wife,” said Madame Tracy excitedly.

“Tax benefits,” chimed Sergeant Shadwell.

“Yes, I dare say it would be different,” said Aziraphale. “What do you think might be the biggest change?”

“Oh, well I already cook for him,” said Madame Tracy, “and I clean my apartment, although I don’t think anyone cleans Sergeant Shadwell’s. I think the biggest change will be learning to live as a couple.”

“Tax benefits,” contributed Sergeant Shadwell.

“Yes dear, that will be a nice benefit. Now, we’re thinking of both ending our leases, and I’ve got enough stashed away for a modest house together, not in London mind you, but in the countryside somewhere. It’ll be lovely, don’t you think dear?”

“Tax benefits!” Sergeant Shadwell seemed very excited about that aspect of marriage at least.

“The countryside sounds lovely,” said Aziraphale. “Where are you thinking of going?”

“Oh, well we’re going to Hastings for our honeymoon-”

“TAX-”

“-as Sergeant Shadwell said there was a glorious number of witches killed there in 1066, and if we quite like it we might just settle there!”

“-BENEFITS!!!”

“Are you quite done?” Crowley asked Sergeant Shadwell. The former Witchfinder Sergeant almost had the dignity to look abashed.

“That sounds delightful, Madame Tracy. I thought the Battle of Hastings was more to do with Heaven’s political interests than witches, but I’m sure the history is glorious all the same.”

“Heavens? I thought we had a hand in it?” asked Crowley.

“You did, you influenced the Witenagemot that crowned Harold Godwinson, remember? Michael got wind of it and had me influence the Pope to send someone over.”

“Yes, and they sent over William the Bastard. Who do you think did that?”

“Really? That does make sense, actually, Popes were always your forte. I never did understand why upstairs would want a French king in charge of England, although he did bring slightly better food.”

It was at that moment that they realised that they’d long since reached the ice-creamery, and Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell were looking increasingly confused as Crowley and Aziraphale reminisced.

“Well, let’s not leave the happy couple waiting. Come along, how does ice cream wedding cake sound?”

* * *

After they’d eaten plenty of ice-cream, they bid their goodbyes, wishing Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell a lovely honeymoon and best of luck with the tax benefits. Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell took off on the old motor scooter, and Crowley and Aziraphale walked back to the Bentley.

“It was lucky your accountant knew about the wedding,” commented Aziraphale.

“Yeah, it just came up when he was talking about the property market actually. Said it was a good time for couples to buy.”

“Really? I’ve not looked at real estate since I got the shop. Has it changed much since then?”

“Obviously. It’s no longer shops that are all the rage, everyone’s buying houses now.”

“How quaint. Perhaps I should look into it again, with what your accountant said.”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, but his expression was unreadable.

“I’ve got a 1988 Krug Vintage Brut champagne in the back of the Bentley; shall we toast the married couple?”

“Let’s head back to the shop, I’ve got a couple of nice reds to wash it down with.”

And so they went into the night, the blessed couple with their tax benefits, and the ethereal beings with their champagne. If housing prices in Hastings had suddenly dropped, well, nobody could tell if and angel or a demon had any part to play. Given the empty bottles found on the floor of the bookshop the next morning, neither of them could tell either.


End file.
